


Becoming

by RoyalBlue31



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Natasha Romanov, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov-centric, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Natasha Romanov, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23770726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalBlue31/pseuds/RoyalBlue31
Summary: She likened the pain of birthing a new identity to breaking and resetting every single bone in her body: painful yet bearable, and oftentimes necessary for survival. But things are different now.S.H.I.E.L.D. collapses into the Potomac river, taking her life's work as Agent Romanoff with it. It sets a turning point for Natasha, slowly forcing her to come to terms with the possibility that the one person she should be is the person she has been all along. After all, Natasha Romanoff is just as strong as her predecessors (and even better than some), save for one problem.She is compromised.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 24
Kudos: 108





	1. Compromised

**Author's Note:**

> Starts at the end of Winter Soldier and diverges from canon there, pushing Natasha past the boundaries of her comfort as she must come to terms with her failures and grow to accept that love is not for children.

Natasha watched, entranced, as the helicarrier slammed into the Triskelion.

Metal bit into the structure angrily with the unforgiving nature of a monster, chewing up S.H.I.E.L.D. and spitting it out into the Potomac in chunks. She couldn’t help but stare, completely mesmerized.

Organizations came undone all the time, so this shouldn’t have been any different. _And yet_ , she thought wistfully, _it’s not everyday you get to see your own identity come undone with them_. 

Natasha should have been used to it by now. She wondered if she would ever get used to it. 

“Natasha!” 

She blinked at the sound of her name, recovering from her twisted out-of-body experience. Fury piloted the helicopter with a scowl and his good eye fixed on the mission at hand, even if the furrow in his brow told her that he may have been experiencing similar mixed emotions. She reached behind her for a set of comms and slid them over her ears just in time to hear Sam yelling.

“ _Please tell me you got that chopper in the air!_ ” 

She let out a breath of relief. “Sam, where are you?” 

_“Forty-first floor, north-west corner!”_

Fury navigated accordingly, while Natasha grabbed onto the edge of the door, leaning her head out of the helicopter to get a better look at their target. 

“We’re on it, stay where you are!”

“ _Not an option!_ ”

As they grew closer her eyes drifted over the glass, counting in estimates. She turned to Fury, frowning. “We’re off by at least six.”

Fury only glared at her meaningfully, bringing the helicopter to an abrupt halt at the side of the building. “I know.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes in realization. 

Her fingers immediately snapped to unbuckle her seatbelt while simultaneously working her right leg around the bar beneath her seat. Fury tilted the helicopter to its side without so much as a glance in her direction and she braced herself, surrendering to gravity. She floated in the air momentarily—before being jerked sideways, pivoting her body towards the right side of the aircraft with her arms already outstretched. 

She dug her fingers into the edges of the door and grit her teeth, groaning through the effort required to pry it out of position and slam it shut. Her fist quickly followed, coming down on the latch to lock it in place. 

Something shattered from above and Natasha doubled back instinctively, curling herself safely out of the way as Sam Wilson came crashing into the helicopter. He smacked into the door with enough force to break it off its hinges and shatter his shoulder, but Natasha still managed to take it in stride as she pulled him back in. Despite the injury he would live; he was safe. 

_Always beats the alternative_ , she thought as she assisted Sam into a seated position.

Fury paid them one assessment before righting the helicopter and flying them out from under the wreckage, his face already set with the satisfaction of a successful rescue operation. She wanted to comment on the fact that it had been more a close save than a success, but the ringing in her ears from the adrenaline disabled her and she slumped into her seat, choosing instead to prepare for the next extraction.

Sam reacted with enough indignation for the both of them. “Forty-first floor! _Forty-first!_ ”

She vaguely registered Fury’s snark response, her thoughts already going to the one soldier unaccounted for. 

“Hill, where’s Steve?” she called into comms. “You got a location on Rogers?”

There was no response. She directed her question towards Fury, who coldly averted his gaze, eye straight forward and focused on flying. Natasha ignored the pang in her chest and drew her comms closer to her mouth.

“Hill, come in,” she demanded.

The Triskelion was growing smaller in the distance as Natasha waited out an answer, the realization dawning on her slowly. They weren’t on the move to the next extraction; they were _leaving_.

“ _Maria._ ” 

She felt a heavy hand come to her knee followed by a gentle squeeze of support. Natasha turned to Sam, furious, her assumption confirmed by how easy his expression was to read. Something had happened while she was off comms. Something had happened to Rogers. 

Maria finally answered, the guilt in her voice making Natasha’s blood curl. “ _Captain Rogers was last detected on Helicarrier Charlie. I lost his tracker after the first round of explosions._ ”

Anxiety poured over Natasha like a bucket of ice, quickly extinguishing the adrenaline that had grounded her. Her eyes shot out to the aforementioned helicarrier which they had _just_ abandoned. She cursed, her stomach doing a flip. They had been so close already. 

“We’re turning back,” she declared with grim finality, directing her defiance at Fury. She tore her headset off and tossed it to the ground, making her way for the cockpit. 

Fury stuck his arm, blocking her from taking the controls.  “Romanoff, sit your ass back down.”

“ _Steve_ is in that helicarrier—“

“Hill is rebooting his tracker and will have his exact location in no time. I will not let you jeopardize this mission by putting your lives in danger—“

“Our mission is to take down S.H.I.E.L.D.—“

“No, that’s _your_ mission,” Fury retaliated, the irony not lost on him. “Captain Rogers may have compartmentalized a little.”

An expression flashed across his face and Natasha clenched her jaw. 

“Goddamnit,” Sam swore from behind her. 

They’d been had. 

The world around her came to a grinding halt. Under different circumstances, she would have been impressed—that stupid altruistic fossil had finally managed to pull one past her, and he was doing it to secure their lives over his own. _Her_ life. After he had already foolishly entrusted her with his own. 

But she was dangerously unimpressed. Steve had just laid himself on the goddamn wire and Natasha felt…affected.

Fury turned away, forcing a nonchalant shrug. “I have been ordered to extract your non-super soldier asses from the crossfire at any cost. Which is exactly what I plan to—”

Natasha’s jab connected with his arm, cutting him off. Before he could further react she landed a cracking blow to his head with her elbow and Fury crumpled in his seat like a bag of bones, allowing her to tip his head out of the way and squeeze past him to take over controls. 

She ignored Sam’s colorful burst of surprise as she worked to turn the chopper around, aggravated by the calmness in his voice. _How could he stay so calm?_

“I’ll accept any retribution once I’m done kicking Steve in his perfect face,” she growled, her anger getting the best of her. She swore under her breath, reprimanding herself; she had to keep her emotions in check. 

Sliding the assigned comm set over her ears, Natasha focused her energy on the task at hand. She had successfully turned the aircraft around, barely cutting the distance between them and Steve when her hardened resolve slipped through her fingers. Half of Helicarrier Charlie had taken a dive into the river, with the rest of it not far behind. 

Her mouth fell open, her brain incapable of interpreting her devastation. In her state of shock she had barely noticed the tip of Fury’s M&P pressing lightly into her left temple. 

“Ouch,” he said simply, announcing himself.

The vexation in his voice worked well to renew her drive. She tightened her grip on the controls, pushing them forward. She didn’t care; she would jump into that water and scour the entirety of the Potomac if she had to. 

“Stand down, Romanoff.”

Natasha shook her head, her confidence swelling with the type of insubordinate attitude that could only be born out of desperation. “I’d let you blame it on the eyepatch, but I _was_ standing on your right side.”

“Agent Romanoff, I am giving you one last chance—“ Fury issued coldly.

“There are no agents here, Nick,” she responded, voice dripping with a similar iciness. “Steve Rogers just took a swan dive into the river and I am not letting up until you can convince me otherwise.”

She could see herself reflected in the glass before her, utterly unrecognizable. Her eyes were cold even if the rest of her was serene and hellbent on reaching her target. She pondered, fleetingly, how easy it could be to slip back into someone capable of ruthless, insurmountable actions when backed into a wall. Her monster was peeking out, she knew, and she knew Fury saw it too. 

After all, they were already closing in and he hadn’t even bothered to cock his gun.

Fury withdrew predictably, shaking his head at her with dubious respect. He leaned into his comms, begging, “Hill, tell me you have something.”

There was a hum on the other end and Natasha held her breath. 

“ _Linking tracker coordinates to your system.”_

Her eyes latched onto the monitor of their tracking system. The red dot had barely beeped once before she was scouring through the data for a better visual of Steve’s location. Fury assumed controls without missing a beat, taking them towards the western shoreline. 

She could feel him watching her, his concern burning into her skull, but found once the image cleared that she didn't care. She couldn’t feel much of _anything_ anymore _,_ except that all of the sudden she was frozen in fear.

“Nick.” Her bottom lip trembled as she brought a hand to cover her mouth. 

Steve was lying on the shore, broken and bleeding profusely through his uniform. She heard Sam draw his breath in through his teeth; she hadn’t even realized that he had managed to crawl his way to the front, his free hand clutching his offending shoulder. 

_Was he…was he even breathing?_ Natasha thought, her heart sinking to her feet. 

Maria’s voice broke through the bubble of their collective despair, shaking them back into action. _“I can’t get a response team in and out through all the wreckage. You’ll have to provide evac.”_

Fury was the first to recover. “Get us the coordinates to the nearest hospital helipad. I want the doctors—our doctors—ready to operate and a trusted security team dispersed inside the hospital and outside the perimeter.”

“ _On it._ ”

Natasha couldn’t look away even as she registered the exchange of commands. 

“Romanoff, I need you to stick Wilson with some morphine so he can take over controls.”

It suddenly felt so real, the fact that Steve Rogers was capable of dying despite the serum, despite the shield, despite it being right or wrong. And if he died, she didn’t know what she would do _._

“Natasha!”

She nodded, somewhat shakily, coming out of her haze. 

Fury regarded her with a stern compassion. “He’s not dead yet, you hear me?”

The obvious question hung in the air unsaid: _How do you know?_

“He’s not dead yet, _do_ _you_ _hear_ _me_?”

She pulled out the medical kit without another word, cutting through a portion of Sam’s suit so she could administer the morphine. Sam took a hold of her arm once she was done, wordlessly communicating his encouragement.She nodded at him, drinking in his support, and he released her and moved to take over for Fury.

Fury held out a set of wireless comms for Natasha to take before focusing on the rest of their sparse medical gear. “I want you out on the sand the moment we land, giving Hill the rundown. Can you do that?”

She fixed him with a steely look, matching his determination even if her usual spunk failed her.She managed a curt nod instead.

They were still a few feet off the ground when she jumped out, running through muddy shore while Fury and Sam worked on landing and lowering the stretcher out of the chopper. Her legs nearly sunk into the sand a few times but she trudged forward, collapsing to her knees next to Steve’s form. Her hands swept lightly over the blood, eyes identifying key injuries with a strained professionalism.

“Exit wound through the stomach.” 

She cupped her hands over the wound to staunch the flow of blood. Steve’s stomach rose and fell weakly. He was warm. 

“There has to be more, maybe on his back; there’s too much blood for there not to be more.”

Natasha faltered after that, withdrawing one hand to bring to his wrist before moving it to check the gash on his head. Her eyes looked up to see Sam and Fury approaching in the distance. 

“Pulse is weak. Definite head injury, possible concussion. Contusion to the right eye.”

Steve slowly opened his eyes, as if hearing her voice, face contorted in pain as he coughed out a mix of blood and water. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes as she bit down on a sob, her hand finding his and squeezing. He squeezed back, his entire expression softening as he faded out of consciousness once more.

She found herself smiling despite herself, the relief washing over her. Steve's grip on her hand remained firm. “But he’s alive.”


	2. Trouble Man

_He always pulled his punches when they sparred and left his weak spots for the taking._

_Natasha thought nothing of it at first; men who didn’t know her always made the mistake of underestimating her on the field. It was the kind of thinking her previous employers banked on. Everyone in her class had been as small as her, if not smaller, and taught to move with grace even until they delivered the fatal blow. The more deceivingly unassuming they were, the better._

_But Steve knew her, and she hated how despite that he continued to hold back during their sparring matches, giving her plenty of opportunities to be the one to bring the fighting to an end._

_So she drove her knee home into his chest and used his buckle to swing herself around his body, her thighs riding his shoulders and her arms wrapping around his neck. It was a hold that she had perfected a lifetime ago. It never failed her, not that that mattered—Steve never fought back._

_“Fight back,” she demanded, her voice echoing in the empty gym. She knew in her heart that he could throw her off his shoulder easily if he so much as decided to._

_Instead, they both landed on the floor on their backs when he collapsed. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of her, but even then she didn’t let up. She tightened her lock around his neck, a frustration burning in her chest. Steve fake-struggled for good sport then brought his hand to her arm and slapped her three time in surrender._

_Natasha cursed inwardly and released him as though he had scorched her._

_“Do better, Rogers,” she huffed half-heartedly, overcome with a wave of exhaustion. She was caught in a daze, content to lie on the floor gazing upwards and trace the bold emblem painted on the ceiling of the gym._

_A thought came to mind and she frowned. This place doesn’t exist anymore._

_She narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to vocalize her realization, but all of the sudden Steve was crouching over her on all fours. He had his hands to her sides, pinning her in position. His blue eyes bore deep into her green ones, and she lost her train of thought._

_His face was inches away from her own._

_“I’m doing the best that I can, Nat.”_

_Something in the way he spoke told her there was more to his statement. She was about to ask, but froze, a sensation creeping under her skin. She raised her hands to his shoulders, confused._

_There was blood on her hands._

* * *

Steve was officially recovering. His doctors had assured them—repeatedly—that he was progressing faster than expected. His chest rose and fell with every breath. His heart was beating. He was there, right in front of her, right before her eyes. Strong. Healing. Alive. 

And yet every time she fell asleep she dreamt that he was dying.

Natasha gripped at the foot of his bed, leaning all her weight into it. What was wrong with her?

She was tempted to blame it on the exhaustion. Taking down S.H.I.E.L.D/HYDRA, coupled with what Sam admiringly referred to as her ‘helicopter mutiny’, had taken all the fight she had in her, and waiting outside the operating room had fried her nerves.

In light of this Hill attempted to force her to go home. Natasha only glared at her dangerously until Sam stepped in to suggest that it would be a good idea for _one_ of them to stay and keep watch on Steve’s first night. Hill relented after more glaring and arranged to have a couch brought in along with some clean clothes for Natasha to change into. 

She ignored the clothes. But she did try to sleep, twice, and she had been failing miserably so far.

“It doesn’t get easier, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Natasha stiffened at the sound of Sam’s voice. She hadn’t noticed him coming into the room.  She was slipping. 

She craned her neck to acknowledge his arrival, sneaking a glance at the clock above him to confirm that it was way past visiting hours. 

“Are you here to check on Rogers?”

“Cap’s not the one clinging to a hospital bed to keep him standing,” he replied, smirking. 

Natasha released her grip smoothly and turned to face him. She shrugged, maybe a little forcefully, in a knee-jerk reaction to prove him wrong. 

“I’m fine.” Her lie had sounded smooth to her ears but Sam only quirked an eyebrow and she shrugged again. “I can’t sleep.” 

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Is there a difference?” 

He sank into the couch and sighed. “One seems worse than the other.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him but found that she had nothing to say. He, on the other hand, looked like he was just warming up. She folded her arms to her chest defensively and squared her shoulders, hoping to intimidate him into silence. 

Sam didn’t even flinch. 

“I get it, you know, you’re the badass who thinks she has to be strong all the time,” he said knowingly.

Natasha clenched her jaw. “I have no idea what you’re talking ab—“

“When my partner died, I spent the first month on the floor curled into a ball, screaming that it should have been me.” Natasha clamped her mouth shut and turned away. Sam continued, undaunted, “It was a living hell. And then time passed… sometimes I’ll have a good day and I’ll think I’m over it, but I’m not. Not even close. Never will be.”

The question escaped her before she could rethink herself. Her voice was uncharacteristically small. “What happened?”

“An RPG knocked his dumb ass out of the sky during what was supposed to be a routine mission. And unlike Captain dumb ass here, Riley, uh, didn’t have you around making quick decisions to save him.”

Natasha turned to face him, her heart reaching out to his pain. "I'm sorry you lost him, Sam."

He waved her off effortlessly.“Look I’m just saying, what happened earlier was scary for all of us, and whatever it is you’re going through right now, it’s valid.” 

Natasha swallowed the assurance with a short nod. She lowered her eyes to her hands, flexing her fingers out before her, to the blood she hadn't scraped off yet. Her thoughts went back to the shore, to the Triskelion, to the beginning of it all. 

“Three nights ago Steve jumped out of a jet without a parachute.”

She heard Sam scoff in an ‘of course he did’ kind of way. Natasha managed a tiny smirk, thinking back to the way she had grinned when Steve disappeared into the clouds. She never doubted he would be okay. 

“Then Fury died, or _fake_ died, and we were in a bunker about to _real_ die. And Steve saved me," she continued. “I’m pretty sure he was awake the entire explosion, but when I woke up we were about twenty minutes from your house."

She raised her head, checking to see if Sam was still with her. He was listening intently, hanging on every word. 

“And then I get shot by the Winter Soldier, for the _second_ time in my life, but Steve still manages to hold his own, like he always has…up until he discovers that the Winter Soldier is Bucky.” 

She stopped there and took a breath, ready to admit the one thing she knew in her heart was true about Helicarrier Charlie. It had never, not even for a moment, been an assumption, especially after the report arrived on the nature of Steve's injuries. She had a feeling Sam knew it too but wasn't brave enough to say it. 

“There was no fight on that helicarrier, Sam. The Winter Soldier won the moment he showed up.”

“We don’t know that," Sam said, the tone in his voice betraying him. "We have to give Cap the benefit of the doubt."

“Steve doesn't have it in him to fight his friends.”

“Natasha…“

She held up her hand to stop him. “We both know he’s going after Barnes once he’s out of here. Don’t pretend it’s not true, and don’t try to lie just to make me feel better.”

“We’ll be there to watch his back,” Sam said instead after some careful deliberation.

Natasha looked at him in surprise. Sam wasn't making suggestions, he was giving her his word. 

She recovered with a solemn nod. “I’ve…I’ve been a…I’ve seen people in pain. And I’ve watched a lot of people die. My previous partner, Clint, he’s had a few close calls himself with death and other things. I don’t know why…but this—“ She held up a bloodied hand for Sam to see. “Somehow, it’s _harder_. Steve is...it's easy to forget that he's..."

Sam jumped in smoothly when she faltered. “Human?”

She shook her head. “Breakable.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

Natasha looked him dead in the eye and smiled wryly. “One seems worse than the other.”

Sam chuckled to himself and took to the jig. “Breakable?”

“Human.”

The sob escaped her even if she was smiling and she collapsed into herself, bringing her hand to shield her eyes. She half-expected Sam to come rushing over to pull her into a hug, or maybe she wanted him to, wanted him to make a joke, lighten the mood, to do anything. 

But he didn’t. He walked right out the door and Natasha fumbled in the aftermath, cursing herself for letting her guard down. She refused to look up, angry tears streaking down her face, until she heard his footsteps marching back into the room. 

He carried with him a bunch of towels and a water basin and gently directed her to the couch.

“What’re you—“

“You’re gonna keep thinking his blood is on your hands if his blood _is_ _on your hands_ ,” Sam said simply, kneeling in front of her. He pushed her hands into the water and began scrubbing. 

Natasha attempted to pull away but his grip was tighter. “Sam, you don’t have to do this—“

“Natasha,” he said patiently.“Shut up and let me help you."

“You _don’t_ have to."

"I've got your back," he hummed, putting an end to the matter. He gave her a dry towel for her hands and stood, taking the basin with him. "Now lie down before I call a nurse to sedate you."

She wanted to respond, to say something snarky about whether this made them friends, but the moment her head hit the hospital-issued pillow she found that she was too tired to do anything but breathe. 

Sam killed the lights and shut the door behind him and Natasha closed her eyes, the beeping of Steve's heart monitor lulling her to sleep.

* * *

He woke to the faint sound of music. 

Steve blinked repeatedly, disoriented. The ceiling came into focus, not that he could recall seeing a ceiling before he…he had been staring at the sky. He had been staring at the sky and Nat. Nat had been holding his hand. 

He clenched said hand on reflex, turned to his right and was both disappointed and relieved to find Sam there, lightly dozing, a book about to fall out of his hands. 

He couldn't help himself. “On your left.”

His voice sounded rough due to what he guessed had been his longest nap since waking up from the ice, but it was still loud enough to wake Sam, who narrowed his eyes competitively. Steve managed a half-smile and sunk his head back into a comfortable position on the pillow, satisfied enough to take another nap.

“On _your_ left.” 

He peeked at Sam out of the corner of his eye, but Sam ignored him pointedly. Steve furrowed his brow in confusion and craned his neck the other way, turning to his left.

He could not explain the sudden warmth radiating in his chest. Well, maybe he could.

Nat was sprawled out on a couch, snoring softly and using a blazer as a makeshift blanket. She didn’t even stir when Sam laughed aloud, pumping his fist into the air triumphantly.


	3. Endings

Fury arranged for one last meeting before he was due to slip away into the shadows, and according to him, the best place to bid their farewells was over his own grave. Natasha had yet to decide if he was going playing for irony or trying to be dramatic. Either way, it was hard to deny that her boss was going out in style. 

He was waiting for her by the time she arrived, shades pushed all the way up the bridge of his nose, expression somber. Natasha glanced around the graveyard which was devoid of a soul save for the two of them, and she scowled at herself for being so easily tricked. Steve and Sam, both of whom she knew voluntarily rose before the sun on a daily basis, were uncharacteristically late. In fact, they nowhere to be found.

Fury extended his arm to her, a manila folder clasped in his hand, and Natasha actually willed herself to be even a little more surprised. She bit back an inappropriate laugh.

“I already filed my two weeks’ notice, Nick.”

“And I signed it myself.”

He'd said it without so much as missing a beat, and yet the folder was still in his outstretched hand, mocking her. Natasha made no move to take it from him. 

“This isn’t about a job,” he said patiently. Natasha had a feeling he was even rolling his one good eye at her behind his shades. She stood her ground, unmoved, until Fury sighed. “You have my word.”

Natasha paid his word a tight smile in return. “Promises, promises.”

She reached out and took the folder. 

There was only one page inside, a print out of a captured frame from a surveillance camera. Natasha zeroed in on the location coordinates and her curiosity quickly overtook her apprehension.

“Dublin?”

“Try again, Romanoff. It’s more of a who than a where.”

She bit the inside of her cheek and took a better look at the frame. It was an inner city street with no cars passing by. No more than a dozen people walked in all directions, alone, in pairs, in groups. The faces were a mix of strangers and blurs. 

In the end, it wasn’t a person that called to her attention but a piece of clothing: specifically, a red leather jacket that she could have easily overlooked had it not been for the way the red blended into black near the bottom half. 

She knew that jacket. She’d even owned one herself a long, _long_ time ago. And here she was, staring at what looked like an exact replica, tracing her finger against its cuff.

Fury grunted as though he were impressed she’d caught on so quickly, and Natasha narrowed her eyes. The jacket—It wasn’t a replica. It was _hers_. She traced wrist to arm, arm to shoulder, shoulder to neck, neck to…

“Yelena.” 

Despite the quality of the image, it was unmistakable. Yelena Belova may have dyed her hair in an attempt to mask her identity from even the less-than-casual observer, but Natasha could pull those eyes out of any line-up, raccoon eyeliner be damned.

“Dated in the system around the same time that I hired Batroc to hijack the Lemurian Star,” Fury explained. “I pulled it off the uploaded files the minute I found it.”

Natasha felt her gut plummet to the ground. 

“So she’s working for HYDRA,” she surmised, managing to keep her voice level. 

“All we know for now is that she’s definitely on their radar. There was nothing else attached and no previous record of her on file.” Fury hesitated. “It doesn’t look Red Room related.” 

Natasha hummed. “The ash brown looks bad enough to be a disguise,” she supposed. She tore her eyes away from her _sestra_ , redirecting her attention to Fury. “So are we talking recon or…?”

“That’s entirely up to you, Romanoff.”

Natasha frowned. “If you pulled it off the web, you must think she’s important.“

“She is,” Fury acquiesced, lowering his shades to look her in the eye. “I know what Belova means to you.”

Natasha blinked, slowly understanding. Fury had been known to mess with files for certain things; he’d certainly done it before. For Clint. For Clint’s family. Natasha pressed her lips together to keep from gaping. She’d never expected to be on the receiving end of such sympathy herself. 

She was at a loss for words.

Fury put her out of the misery by pushing his shades back up and looking over her shoulder. 

“So,” he said, voice a little louder, a little more Fury. “You’ve experienced this kind of thing before?”

Natasha shut the folder deftly and lowered it out of direct view. Footsteps crunching on grass that she had missed approaching earlier now registered loudly into her ears, and soon enough Steve Rogers came to stand at her right. 

His eyes were trained on Fury’s grave, shoulders tense in that usual weight-of-the-world way of his, but she appreciated finally seeing him out of the hospital all the same. There was barely a semblance of scar on his face and by the way he carried himself it was obvious that all of his injuries had healed nicely. During their time at the hospital, Sam and Natasha had quickly learned that another benefit of his super soldier serum was that it worked so well it made it almost easy to forget that Steve had managed to turn the blue in his combat suit into maroon.

_Almost_. 

“You get used to it,” Steve finally answered, looking Fury’s way. 

Natasha failed to suppress a smirk at the thinly veiled sarcasm. She felt a nudge to her left and caught Sam winking at her out of the corner of her before Fury cleared his throat, signaling the start of his spiel.

“We’ve been data-mining HYDRA’s files. Looks like a lot of rats didn’t go down with the ship.”

Steve clenched his jaw but said nothing.

“I’m headed to Europe tonight, and wanted to ask if you’d come,” Fury continued, eyeing him in particular.

Natasha allowed the two of them a moment to consider. Fury had already asked her, and then asked her _again,_ prior to arranging this little get-together. Her answer both times had been a straight-forward _No_ and nothing else. 

Suffice it to say, the moment was tense. Fury was clearly holding out for a miracle, Steve was seriously debating the situation at hand, and Sam was mostly waiting for Steve. 

“There’s something else I’ve got to do first,” Steve finally answered, shoulders squared. 

Natasha felt her own shoulders tighten in response. 

_There it was._

Throughout his recovery Steve hadn’t so much as breathed a mention of Barnes. It got to the point that Sam was even hopeful that maybe he wouldn’t go running. Natasha had allowed Sam his hope, but she also knew that Steve’s silence was simply the calm before the storm. 

He was going after his friend, and she’d expected no less from him.

Fury was just as adept to reading between the lines and graciously moved on.“How about you, Wilson? Could use a man with your abilities.”

Sam barely took a second to respond. “I’m more of a soldier than a spy.”

“I guess that's two for three.” Fury paused, looking in Natasha’s direction once more. “Dare I ask again, Romanoff?”

Natasha shrugged, nonchalant as ever. “I’ve been told that there’s a chance I might be in the wrong business. It’s time I figure out if that’s true.” Steve turned to her, smiling knowingly, but Natasha kept her eyes on her ex-boss even if she couldn’t help but smile herself. “Plus, I blew all my covers. I gotta go find a new one.”

Fury lifted his chin thoughtfully. “Dublin?”

She shook her head. Yelena was a part of her and would always be, but there was something else from her past to took precedence. Her mind had been made up since her first _No_ , and she wasn’t changing it now.

“Volgograd.”

Steve furrowed his brow at the exchange of destinations, and Natasha ignored that too. Fury’s response was a curt but respectful nod as he studied her behind his shades.

“Alright then.” He extended his hand to each of them, starting with Sam, then Steve, then Natasha. “Anybody asks for me, tell them they can find me right here.” 

He left without another word, and though Natasha knew calling him out on it would defeat the purpose of his theatrics, she couldn’t help herself. 

“You should be honored. That’s about as close as he gets to saying thank you.” 

Sam chuckled and even Steve managed a smile. Natasha basked in their company, the three of them still together for the time being. Working together had been short-lived, but they'd made a good team. 

Sentimentality aside, her logic reminded her that there was no point wasting the momentum Fury had set, and between the two of them, Natasha knew it would be easier to start with Sam. He was already way ahead of her, pulling her into a tight hug the moment she leaned in his direction.

“I’m not saying good-bye,” he said stubbornly. 

She laughed and pat his back. “Me neither.”

“Then we’re good.” He released her with a nod to Steve. “I’ll, uh, go wait in the car.” 

It was a painstakingly obvious attempt to give them the privacy to exchange their good-byes but Natasha appreciated it all the same even if she had meant it when she told him she had no plan of doing such things. She reached into the pocket of her jacket, right hand curling around a small device. 

Turning to face the man who had been her partner for the last two years, who had saved her life not once but twice, she presented him with a burner phone.

“It’s a flip phone,” she explained. “I know it feels like a step backwards after all our efforts to modernize you…but it’s harder to trace or intercept, and I’ve tinkered with it so you can pretty much get reception anywhere.”

Steve raised an appraising eyebrow. “Even in Dublin?”

Natasha grinned back. “Even in Volgograd.”

He took the phone without another word, turning it over in his hand to inspect it.

“I wanted to get you a lead. And it definitely would have been more useful, but my sources aren’t taking any of my calls at the moment. So instead, if something— _anything_ —happens on your ghost hunt and you need my help…or even if you just want to remind me that you’re still alive…Call.”

Steve nodded slowly, taking in her words as he scanned through the listed contacts. There was only one number, of course. Hers, listed under _Nat._ Not Natasha, not Romanoff. Nat. 

They stood quietly as Steve processed, eyes still glued to her name on the screen. Finally, after what felt like hours, he released a heavy breath, coming back to her.

“You knew I was going after Bucky.”

She smiled at him kindly. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you didn’t try.” 

It was enough for him to lift his head, finally meeting her gaze. His eyes pierced hers, thoughts racing behind them in his head. Natasha held her gaze, refusing to be the one to look away first if only because she was stubborn.

Finally, the corners of Steve’s lips lifted into a small, genuine smile.

He took a tentative step forward and reached a hand behind her neck, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on her cheek. Steve lingered ever so delicately, and Natasha felt her heart pounding in her chest as his breath tickled her ear. 

She closed her eyes and wrapped her free arm around his neck, pulling him into a hug, and Steve surrendered himself to her immediately. His body was a furnace compared to hers but his hold was firm and overall, it felt right. It felt safe. 

It felt like nothing she had ever felt before. 

She had always marveled at the indiscernible way people managed to communicate through hugging. And yet there they were, everything unspoken passing between them in the silence. 

_Take care._

_Don’t die._

_Thank you._

_Be safe._

_Come back._

Steve began idly playing with the tips of her hair, drawing a lock between his fingers, and although it was incredibly soothing, it was also a good sign for them to part. Natasha took it upon herself to break the hug, stepping out of his embrace to get a proper look at him. The back of his neck had flushed deeply where she had been holding him, but she pretended not to notice, instead gesturing down the path towards to the sidewalk. 

They began walking, falling into step so easily it had to be second nature at this point. She couldn’t lie; she was going to miss this. 

“When are you leaving?” Steve asked once they had reached the sidewalk. 

“Soon,” Natasha replied quietly. “There’s someone I need to check on before I go.”

He nodded, eyes piercing her once more. 

“Nat, what’s in Volgograd?”

Natasha hesitated. The short answer was _her_. She had been in Volgograd, or at least she had been born there. Other than that… 

“I’m not sure,” she replied honestly. “But I’m hoping to find out.”  


**Author's Note:**

> Will only add related tags and characters as the story progresses.


End file.
